Twitter is a High School Lunchbreak

Remember when Twitter was fun? When it was just the weirdos and creeps like us who lurked around and made stupid jokes? When we could force trending topics to happen and we weren’t inundated with normal people? When our freak flag could fly high and we weren’t bogged down with boring beige chatter about fucking Idols, the Springboks, soccer (all types) and whatever the goddamn Sunday night movie is on M-Net?

Those were good days. Back when we were chasing ourselves onto social media’s next ‘platform’. It began with MySpace (which is where HEADLINE payoff began) and in those days only level 9 creepsters and artfags had MySpace accounts. This was followed by a quick flirtation with Facebook, which very quickly became mainstreamed and filled with baby photos, inspirational quotes and Bill Gates giving away $5000.

But then Twitter rolled out of its mother’s butt like a perfect shining golden nugget and cracked open to reveal a new world where piss-takers like me were rewarded for brevity and quickness of wit.

But now?

If Twitter used to be smoking sneaky cigarettes behind the bicycle shed, it is now the main field of the school and all the inane, stupid, redundant conversations that take place are now all there and all public. All. The. Time.

– The not-good-at-anything nerds who discuss Rand/Dollar exchange rates they heard on the radio, as if this makes them knowledgable or intelligent.

– The sportbois, bellowing nonsensically about how the red team is better than the blue team and whoever hasn’t supported the red team for at least the last 5 years is nothing but a glory boy.

– The Christians, having Good Old Fashioned Fun™ while proclaiming ‘Oh my gosh!’ and ‘Sherbert!’ all the time, whipping each other with wet towels and wondering what that strange feeling is.

– The Interact club, touching tree stumps like the fairies from Fern Gully and asking, ‘Can’t you feel it’s pain?’ while suckling orphans at their hairy teats.

– The cool dudes, comparing Island Style shoes, Blackjacks and Instinct T Shirts (or is that Birkenstocks, straw fedoras and French wine barrel cheeseboards?)

– The drinkers, wooing about their weekend and talking about how fucked they were. ‘Bra, I was sooooo wasted oh my god. You shoulda seen me bra!’

– The ‘Come on you guys!’ guys who turn around and shush the class when the teacher gets testy, lurking in the library.

– And then there’s me, standing on the roof thinking about throwing myself off, fingernails digging into my palms as my whole body vibrates with hate.

– But don’t forget Twitter’s sponsored tweets advertising model, which is akin to the retard kid who eats food off the floor for R5, running across the field naked with a banner saying: BUY A NEW MERCEDES AMG.

So here we are, at a never-ending school lunch break. And it is boring. We are awash in waves of beige tedium. It laps at our chins and threatens to fill our mouths and noses as we bob in the cold conversation-porridge like boring, boring, boring hotdog rolls. I am a hotdog roll and so are you. A dried out, stale boring-ass hotdog roll.

Yours tweeting about what he’s eating for lunch,